


Falleg Nótt

by jasmiinitee



Series: Autocrats [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Asgard, Culture Shock, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Jotun Loki, Jotunheim, Not Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Compliant, Social Anxiety, Vanaheim, a real niche fic for all your soft family angst in situations of political unrest needs, how do you go from a prince to an office worker basically, it's the most difficult dinner date at your colleague's house ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmiinitee/pseuds/jasmiinitee
Summary: “What have I done now? Pray tell.”Then again, he should have know better than to ask the question aloud. Just as Baldr opened his mouth, they heard raised voices in the hall and the slam of a door somewhere. Both Forseti and his wife spoke in raised voices, but Loki couldn’t make out what they were saying. The steps upstairs had quieted down.Perhaps sitting down to wait was really the best option. Inviting frost giants to a family dinner just wasn’t done, period. He knew that.friðartímar, falleg nótt / times of peace, a beautiful nightSkálmöld - Heima(Notes at the end for time frame in relation to other fics in this verse)





	Falleg Nótt

Loki only realised that it was threshold of a home when the smell of food drifted from inside and a blonde servant boy opened the door. He wiped his hands on his apron not managing to clean them, and gave a short bow.  
“Welcome home, my Lord. Lords,” the young servant said, freckled cheeks clean despite his spice-stained hands, and Forseti nodded to him.  
“Thank you, Bassi.”  
It was Forseti’s own home in one of the outer sections of the palace complex, just as golden as the rest of it. The view from the back must have overlooked Bifröst’s gates and the royal stableyard. They had walked through an open corridor overlooking the Rose Gardens, but Baldr’s rambling hadn’t left Loki with any spare attention for such things. 

Loki opened his mouth to object and excuse himself - surely it was all enough for one evening, hadn’t they meant to do some last minute additions to the presentation in a… library or somewhere - but Forseti looked over his shoulder with tired eyes and beckoned them in.  
“Come on in. We’ll dine and take this mess to my study.”  
“Thank you,” Baldr said and stepped through the door, and - being Baldr - nodded to the servant boy with a bright smile. “Good evening, Bassi.”  
“Good evening, my Lord Baldr. And…”

He and Loki stared at each other for a split second before both came to the same conclusion - it would be useless to exchange pleasantries when neither knew how and it wasn’t explicitly required. Bassi made way and Loki strode past him as quickly as he could, if only to get behind closed doors and not so much overjoyed by a surprise dinner invitation. 

The servant boy disappeared down a flight of stairs and the heavy front door closed with a thunk. Baldr knelt down to take off his boots, council robes bunching at his feet, and faint sounds of footsteps and laughter drifted from upstairs. Loki twitched minutely, staring around the strange entrance hall. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.  
The downstairs smelled like a kitchen, perhaps also baths if this was a traditional courtly home, the stairs up looked much grander and wider. Everything seemed so comfortable and _usual_ that it was more than a bit upsetting.

Forseti ventured further inside and disappeared behind a corner without another word. Loki tried to follow him with his eyes, but couldn’t bend his neck far enough without looking like a complete idiot.

“Sounds like you brought some work home with you again,” a woman called out. It must have been Forseti’s wife.  
“I’m sorry, dear, could you arrange for two more seats at the dining table?”  
“Is it Baldr?” Her tone suggested that this was good news.  
“Yes. And… We will set things up in the study, I’ll be back after that.”

Forseti returned, peeling off his heavy overcoat and hanging it on a rack in the hall. He nodded towards it, his eyes on Loki, and the hint was strong enough for him to reluctantly follow the chairman’s example. Even the Royal Drots who spent his days whiling away in courtrooms had shoulders set wider than he did, not to mention Baldr who actually wrestled in his spare time. Loki put his coat away, pulled his sleeves down over his wrists and clasped his hands behind his back. Somehow his skin looked even worse against the dark, warm backdrop of a home than it did in official halls.

“You two,” Forseti said. “You can go ahead and make yourselves comfortable in the study - Baldr, you know the way, down the hall. I will be there shortly and we can set things up before Bassi gets the dinner ready. I will introduce you to everyone in a minute, Loki, but I must let my wife in on the situation first,” he added and looked at Loki, as if to check if he understood. Of course he did. Forseti’s dark eyes and flaxen hair made for a much sterner image than Loki would have ever thought before. There was no option left but to nod softly.

Forseti didn’t look at him for long, but even the short gaze was enough - let me sort this out, and don’t come further inside until I tell you to. Loki knew of strategy and the best ways to avoid conflicts, and he recognised them well enough in flesh. It still stung a little when Forseti turned his back on him and left without another word.  
He wasn’t a house guest yet, only a stranger, and it was made very clear. The damned legist made him come into his halls uninvited, undoubtedly frightening his wife, and even managed to blame it all on him. 

Loki huffed out a breath through his nose - a marvellous situation to be stuck in, really.  
“Are you coming? The study is here.” Baldr nodded to their right where a more official-looking room was set up. Loki swallowed - his pride or his growing dread, he couldn’t really say - but nodded and followed after him.  
“Lead the way.”

The study was nice enough with its tall windows and sturdy ceiling beams. A traditional nobleman’s office with clean furniture, filled bookshelves and some old weapons on the wall - not a merchant’s over-cluttered rooms. It lacked the newest sleek fashion of the palace, but looked much softer and warmer with wood and black iron instead of gild and granite.  
It was very nice, actually.  
So nice that Loki found himself frowning at the view that opened to the parks, because it really was a lot compared to anything he now had - small rooms on the shadowed western side of the central borough. Not even a part of the palace proper.

Baldr didn’t seem bothered by anything. He went ahead and threw all their papers, notes, portable records and old archive books on a large desk. Loki stood by the door and looked at him with a frown. He just went ahead and slumped down on one of several cushioned seats around the table, closing his eyes and crossing his ankles.

“What are you doing?”  
“Waiting,” Baldr said, and Loki cocked his head. “Wondering about the dinner.”  
“Spiced rabbit, roasted with some sort of corn like they do in Vanaheim,” he snapped back. The scent of Bassi’s cooking drifted from the entrance hall, and it was a thick and heady sort. “I meant to ask: what are you doing sitting down, without your boots or coat, in Forseti’s office like you own the place?”  
“I should take you with us the next time I go eat out with Nanna. It would save us a lot of time,” Baldr said. 

Loki couldn’t move. He knew that he was being toyed with, but it had been long since anyone was so blatant about it. Much less someone he hardly knew.  
“Excuse me?”  
Baldr turned to look at Loki and sighed: “Do sit down, Mister Secretary, or you’ll make an even bigger mess out of this. Please.”  
“Me? I’ve barely got inside,” Loki asked and gestured to the hall. Baldr shook his head and made him draw in a sharp breath. It was truly incredible how bad his day could still become, in the last hours of daylight. “What have I done now? Pray tell.”

Then again, he should have know better than to ask the question aloud. Just as Baldr opened his mouth, they heard raised voices in the hall and the slam of a door somewhere. Both Forseti and his wife spoke in raised voices, but Loki couldn’t make out what they were saying. The steps upstairs had quieted down.  
Perhaps it was nothing. Some sort of domestic quarrel, the draft, just the way Forseti’s household used doors -  
“You were born,” Baldr said softly. Loki turned to stare at him. 

“I’ve been there. Granted, not exactly this bad of a situation, but still,” the blonde said. Loki blinked - how dare he speak to him like that - but Baldr’s face was sober and serious.  
“I beg your pardon…?”  
“I’m a bastard. No-one’s son,” Baldr said. “It was always difficult for me to get into the court schools so I never really got to know you… true nobles, or whatever your old friends are. It wasn’t by my own choice, but judging by how you’ve turned out, I don’t think that I was left lacking a lot.”  
By how he had turned out? Loki looked at Baldr for a while - perhaps properly for the first time ever - and couldn’t really make any sense of him. 

With his bright white curls and strong, rounded jaw, Baldr was someone who looked like an idea of modern Asgard more than a real, breathing person. Someone with the young muscle and tall height for battle, but with ink stains on his soft hands. Someone with a kind, soft look, but who was simultaneously so resentful and determined that his words stabbed through all defences. And right then Baldr was someone who knew how to stare Loki down with his odd, fish-scale blue eyes like very few people ever had.

“...of course,” Loki said. He looked through the doorway once more, but since the muted conversation was still going on, perhaps sitting down to wait was really the best option. Inviting frost giants to a family dinner just _wasn’t done_ , period. He knew that.

/ / / /

“I must apologise for the delay,” Forseti said when he stepped through the door, his gait smooth and collected as ever. Baldr opened his eyes and Loki quickly turned to look up. He would be made to leave right then, he would have to gather his things again and get out, and he would have to try and sneak through the entire palace after everything had already quieted down for the evening.

“We had a bit of a… confusion over the seating, but everything is settled now. Bassi has already made the table and my daughters will be joining us,” Forseti explained.  
“It was no trouble, Drots” Loki blurted out, shaking his head firmly as a wave of relief washed over him. Everything was perfect if he was saved the humiliation of having to wander back and forth for no reason. Forseti nodded politely, but it was difficult to know how forced his smile truly was. Damn, he was getting rusty.

“Glad to hear that,” Forseti said. “Now, Secretary Loki, I would like you to meet my wife.” Loki rushed to stand up when the lady of the house walked in.

She was from Vanaheim like her husband, likely from somewhere in the northern regions - her eyes were brown and hair dark and thick much like Hogun’s. She nodded first to Baldr with a warm expression, her face younger than… not very old.  
“Mister Secretary,” she said then, and her smile was definitely forced. Loki bent his neck in a shallow bow. Dear Norns, he had even met her before - in some official palace festivities, several times. Why was his mind so void of all thought?  
“Lady Hrimna, is it not?” he asked before Forseti could say anything and make his life more difficult. He gave a tight-lipped smile he could only hope was polite enough. Showing his teeth in a wide grin felt like an even worse choice. “I believe we may have met before, in passing.”

Even if she smiled still, all warmth drained from her face when she laid her eyes on his outstretched hand, blue and cold - Loki saw it behind her carefully applied blush, noticed the ghosts of heat draining away underneath her skin as she blanched.  
“In passing, perhaps.”  
Her words were curt and unamused, and suddenly he saw why. He held no authority in this meeting.

He bowed a bit deeper and tried to look like it didn’t bother him, waiting for her hand with his eyes cast down. He kept his hold on her fingers and the kiss on her knuckles as soft and brief as he dared, but heard her short, sharp breath nonetheless.  
“My apologies,” Loki said softly, not daring to check the husband’s expression.  
“It’s… quite all right,” Lady Hrimna said, clasping her hands together in order to settle the risen gooseflesh. She looked at Forseti and Baldr quickly, and Loki stared at her right shoulder. “Is it?”  
“A fairly normal temperature, I’m afraid.”  
“Luckily the cutlery will not mind. Make yourself at home when you’re here as our guest,” Forseti said and smiled. He let his wife take his arm and looked relieved. Loki heard Baldr even let out a sigh beside him, when he squeezed his eyes shut and folded his own hands behind his back.  
He had a permission to trespass here. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, but it made him nearly dizzy.

“Please, join the table already. Otherwise the roast is cooling down for nothing - and Baldr, please, don’t excite my daughters any further, they can hardly stay seated as is.”  
The air was so comfortable that once again it made Loki feel very much out of place, but it was better than nothing. He kept his expression carefully blank and let Baldr pass before him.  
Rather not be the first guest to walk in on a family dinner.

/ / / /

The silence was getting uncomfortable and Loki could feel all eyes on his forehead. He kept his gaze firmly on the opposite wall, careful not to stare at his plate or any of the other people seated around him - there was a nice tapestry on the wall, woven of blue and white and purple in swirling patterns. Flowers, perhaps. The food smelled good even if he hadn’t eaten quite so much spices in a while, and wouldn’t even try swallowing it for a while to avoid burning his throat.  
Bassi was serving Forseti and Lady Hrimna last, and it was a very foreign way of courtesy in official feasts, but apparently quite normal outside them - just how much of the noble class had their heritage in Vanaheim? Baldr was seated at the other end of the table as a clearly honoured guest, Loki on his left in the furthest corner. Across from him sat three girls, near exact copies of their mother and father’s smooth, regal features.

It was horrible, it was a mistake, and Loki was ready to flee at any given moment. 

One of Forseti’s daughters was still but a school child, and she sat right across from him, in front of the purple tapestry. If Loki so much as moved his legs too much, her feet would likely end up hitting his shins. Thinking about that, he rather preferred to keep hitting his knees uncomfortably against Baldr’s. The two older girls, already young maidens in their own right, looked ready to jump to their baby sister’s rescue if Loki so much as sneezed at her.  
The tapestry was nice. Clearly old and made with care, not with the help of enchantments nor glamoured to shiver and live with the light.

He had already downed a full cup of wine that did nothing to calm his nerves, and the food was still being served - poor Bassi looked at him with thinly veiled annoyance when he spotted the empty cup and had to get around the table again. Loki looked at the walls - builder’s gold and hardwood - and made room for Bassi to refill the cup. Why did he do that? He didn’t even like drinking. Baldr coughed.

What did they expect him to do? Freeze the entire table over or eat with his face on the plate like an animal? Not that he really could do much when there was such an uncomfortable crawling feeling along the back of his hands and neck. He would have dropped the cup if it hadn’t already been on the table.  
He nodded slightly as a way of thanking the servant boy. It seemed like he was a personal helper, greatly cherished one at that, and not one of the publicly hired court pages. Bassi bowed in return and Forseti thanked him as well, motioning for everyone to start the meal.

“So… It’s unfortunately been a good while since I had a chance to visit,” Baldr said. “How are Inga’s studies going?” he asked and shoved a forkful of food in his mouth, looking to the eldest daughter. She was an ashen blonde like her father.  
“You know that you’re always welcome,” Forseti said. “She is doing well, are you not, dear?”  
“Yes, father, Baldr,” she said. Her voice was light and chirping and Loki glanced towards her and Forseti, but turned his eyes quickly back on the tapestry not to stare or seem too intrusive. “It’s… the same as ever. An interesting subject, the naming conventions of towns and manors in Nithavellir,” she said and gave a forced smile aimed at their end of the table. Somehow Loki felt like the expression dodged around him in the manner of a sulking cat, and he chose not to answer anything. Baldr leaned forward into the conversation and looked very curious about… Loki couldn’t remember her name anymore. Isa? No.  
He had to let it pass and focus on his hands instead. Otherwise he would soon embed his knife and fork in a thick block of ice. They were already starting to look chilled with how hard he held them in his grip.

“Really?” Baldr asked, his voice loud in Loki’s ears. “Last time I visited you told that you were still studying the manor houses of central Vanaheim. Did you run out of names there?”  
“She was there all summer,” the middle sister said.  
“Well, I couldn’t find records of a stray handful of strange etymologies. Other than those scraps I really had everything I needed,” the girl replied, sounding terribly proud of herself. 

Loki tried to busy himself with the food, but it was a bit hard to appreciate the taste of the roast when the stock was so heavily spiced that he felt his cheeks flush warm. The wine certainly didn’t help. Thank Urd, at least the colour on his face would be unrecognisable with how wrong it was.  
“What kind of names are we talking about?” Baldr enquired.  
“I don’t know. Not Asgardian, certainly not Vanir. That’s why I’m looking into Nithavellir now.”

The conversation continued smoothly. Even though the topic was simple enough, Loki found it difficult to follow. He didn’t know who these people were outside of their courtly positions, not really, and even if he had known who ‘Brinna’ was or why she was mentioned in this particular story, he couldn’t hear much of it all. In truth, he couldn’t hear a lot more than a strange, jumbled sort of hum. Like he was listening from behind a waterfall.  
The roasted rabbit tasted good enough if he pushed it around to rid it of most of the hot stock. The beets and corn served with it were not tasteless either. Loki tried to focus on the meal, but his throat felt tight and dry.

“Are you ill?” a small and clear voice asked him, breaking through the whisper of blood rushing in his ears. He blinked and found the dark-haired girl across the table staring at him with wide eyes. “Your hand is shaking.”  
Loki looked down at his hand. Indeed. It was trembling so that he found it difficult to hold the fork at all. His shoulders were so tense that it was actually starting to hurt, and now that he and the girl both looked at his hands and everyone else was joining in on the fun, he couldn’t make it stop.

He tried to make it look like a perfectly normal, controlled movement, but in truth he just let the fork drop on the plate with a clatter and pulled both of his hands away from the table.

“...Ylva, that was very impolite,” Lady Hrimna shushed the girl. Loki felt the back of his head prickling like his skull was growing tighter.  
“He looks ill!”  
“He does not look…!” the lady of the house tried again before she closed her mouth and Forseti cleared his throat.  
“Hear me out, Loki, I am terribly sorry for my daughter’s manners.”

Everyone was staring at him and it was getting a bit hard to breathe. His arms felt numb and boneless and there was a straining feeling under his jaw. His eyes were watering. Was it the food?  
“Yes. It’s… I am… Just a bit, uh, ex… well.” The skin on his arms was crawling and prickling, unseen claws dragging up along his muscles and down his cheeks.  
Baldr leaned in, looking at him with way too much focus, and it finally spurred Loki to move. He felt blood rushing away from his limbs and face.  
“I need to… Yes. Just a moment,” he managed to force out before pushing his chair back. It was a pathetic little grunt and he had to blink hard to see anything, but he fled. Away from the table, striding out of the room as quickly as he could, out from under the stares and the weight of the conversation. He dodged past Bassi, out from the warm and homely heart of the house, out into the entrance hall where the lights were dim and the floor was rough tile.

Where there was cold stone against his failing knees and trembling palms and unnaturally warm forehead, and he couldn’t get any further away.  
He had to breathe through his mouth in long, trembling breaths just to pull through the anxious warmth that heated up his cheeks. His arms shivered even when he crouched back to support his weight on his knees and elbows instead of his hands. 

What had happened?

He didn’t know if he lost consciousness for a while and merged with the foundations of Forseti’s house, or if the flow of time somehow bent around him and left him be, but it felt like he was waking up from a deep and stifling dream, when he could once again feel his hands and pay notice to his own thoughts.  
The first thought he followed through was that he had to get up and make sure where he was.

When he got up off his knees, slowly and carefully, and turned around, Bassi and Baldr were standing in the hall. Both stared at him.  
The second thought he managed to hold onto was that of bitter shame that made him close his eyes for a moment.

“Apologies for… causing a scene,” he said, trying to articulate clearly while his jaw fought against his will. Baldr’s expression was tight. “I said I was going to be back shortly, did I not?”  
“You did,” Baldr said in a low voice. “Do you need to… wash your face? Or anything else, Bassi can fetch you a towel. Will you?”  
“Of course,” the boy said and made for the stairs already, but Loki flinched before he got closer.  
“No, no I don’t… I’m quite all right.” He didn’t need anything. Not if it meant that Bassi would be darting downstairs past him and force him to focus on movement in two opposite directions. “I just needed to get some fresh air.”  
“...of course,” Baldr agreed slowly. 

“Do you want to come back?” he asked.  
No? Yes?  
“I already said that I was just about to return.”  
“You did. No cold towel?”  
“No, I assure you,” Loki repeated and forced up a smile, holding out a careful hand to stop Bassi from coming any closer. And just how pathetic was that - he was shying away from a servant and fleeing through Forseti’s halls like a hunted hart.  
“Well, then. You can probably go tend to your chores, Bassi,” Baldr said and the boy nodded, looking between the two of them for a moment before turning away. It was easier to breathe again, and Baldr stood calmly, waiting for him just out of an arm’s reach and folded his hands neatly in front of himself.

When they returned to the dining room, Forseti and his lady both stood up from their chairs, and Loki did his best not to recoil in the doorway. He took a deep breath before even thinking about sitting back down, and held onto the back of his chair for a moment.  
“I am terribly sorry for such ill-mannered behaviour on my part,” he managed slowly and tried to look apologetic. It wasn’t hard with how embarrassed he felt.  
“No harm done,” Forseti said carefully.  
“Well, eight people in a room is a lot, it was a bit stuffy in here,” Baldr said when they both sat down. Loki didn’t look to see what expression he wore. 

It must have been either plain mockery or the offer of a helpful, pitying excuse, and he wanted neither.

“I’m very sorry if I insulted you, my lord,” the girl in front of him said in an even smaller voice than before. Loki looked at her, surprised.  
“What?”  
“With what I said.”  
“Oh, no no, you did no such thing. I just felt a bit… faint,” he said, but it seemed like his eyes were upsetting her as she shrinked further into her chair. Scratch that - he really needed the pitying excuse Baldr had provided, and gave the man a quick look. “The room was a bit stuffy. No offence meant.”  
“None taken,” Forseti said again. “Is the food to your liking, Loki?”  
“Yes, it’s very good,” he replied and tried not to get flustered over being addressed so directly. It was good and the spices were tolerable enough. In any case, he had to get used to different dishes again. “Delicious, thank you.”

“I sent Bassi away for now,” Baldr said before smiling wider. “But you have to think twice, Forseti, if you think that I’m leaving tonight before I’ve paid him my thanks. This is incredible.”  
“Haven’t you always been one to praise anyone’s cooking.”  
“Inga?” Forseti cut the eldest daughter off, and her smile fell. “What did we just discuss in regards to guests and language?”  
“Father! It’s not like I called _him_ a _gi…_ ” she paused. “Anything bad.”  
“Inga,” Lady Hrimna said with a soft sigh.  
“It’s fine,” Loki said, looking at his plate and hoping for his life that his hands would finally stop their trembling. “I am very grateful for the invitation and the dinner. It must have been an inconvenience. You have lovely daughters. Children. Beautiful, I mean, very intelligent.” 

Baldr filled the following silence, and Loki would have to remember to thank him for it later.

**Author's Note:**

> Forseti and Baldr are members of the High Council of Asgard, Forseti is also the Drots / the Head of Justice of the Realm (even though absolute monarchs obviously can and do make their own opinions on legal matters in Asgard). Loki was exiled to Jötunheim for a few years and has returned and managed to work his way into the council so he's sort of... working for the Crown now.  
> Using polite titles in normal speech between colleagues is sort of a must while working in the council because otherwise no politician on Asgard would survive the meetings, what with them being a nation of warmongering fragile masculinity.  
> Baldr is like about the same age as Loki (and Thor's gang), Forseti is older than them but not like... Odin-old.  
> Niðavellir is written as Nithavellir instead of using d in the spelling to be more accurate (and also because I was too lazy to switch to an Icelandic keyboard).
> 
> Set some time before [Manhide](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13438572). Part of my Asgardian politics/jötun!Loki AU one-shot series. I have several Norse gods turned into character concepts for worldbuilding purposes but they aren't really anything from the comics or anything so don't expect family relationships to follow correct logic (because Viking logic had it that basically everyone is Odin's son).


End file.
